Student in Sunnydale 3
by Enterprise1701-d
Summary: Llewellyn and friends move to Sunnydale, and some people are definitely NOT happy with that.


Student in Sunnydale 3.

_The flatlands owned by the Tangut Kingdom, the year 1210. _

_Lightning rode next to Timujin, both warriors carrying their swords. Splitting up, the two went their separate ways through the battle-order of the Tangut army._

_Lightning screamed in glee as his right hand flashed down, his entire body hanging to the right of the war-horse called 'Thunderstorm'. The next moment, he slashed to the left, his body now hanging over to the left of the saddle. Two men were decapitated within seconds of engagement. No longer bothering to keep his left hand on the reins, Lightning drove the horse on with his legs only. Not that he needed to, as the horse knew what its master wanted. After all, they had been together for nearly ten years now. Ten years of conflict… it meant nothing to Lightning. He drove on, ignoring the blood that rose up from the men who were touched by Lightning's blade._

_A slash to the left was followed by another one to the right. The battle continued, and Lightning drove his horse on through the armies of the enemy. He ignored the men falling through the arrows of the support forces, and just kept hacking away at whomever came within range. _

_When Lightning finally disengaged, he saw that the armies were running. Stopping right next to his protégé, Timujin, Lightning asked, "Go after them?"_

_Timujin shook his head. "They'll come when we take their women, and kill their children." He turned around, and shouted, "Kill them all!!"_

_The Mongols raced to the wounded men who remained on the battlefield, killing all of the Tangut men._

Llewellyn opened his eyes. "I did a lot of shit back then," he muttered, getting up out of the bed. "No need to think about the past. I can only learn form it."

Today was the day he was going to look for property in Sunnydale. Llewellyn still couldn't believe that he had been talked into going to the small town, but now that he agreed, there was no backing out. After a week, he had more or less come to terms with it. Llewellyn felt his usual vigor returning as he got under the ice-cold shower, letting the freezing water wash away the last lingering thoughts of his dream. Instead of Timujin, he thought of times longer ago, of his druid teacher Bran and the cold rivers where the two of them used to wash themselves in the mornings.

Llewellyn opened his eyes, stepped out of the shower, and finished his morning routine. After getting dressed in an impeccable business suit, he retrieved some identification papers from the safe in his bedroom.

"Llewellyn Maddocson," Llewellyn read form the driver's license. It was the name most of his money was still stored under, as his new name, Morgan, was fairly recent. Stepping out into the dining room, he found Crevan and Sam already eating breakfast. Crevan was dressed in a business suit as well, with Samantha wearing a nice-looking classy outfit.

"Good morning, monsieur. Can I get you something?" Xavier greeted him after Llewellyn had sat down and greeted his companionship.

"Good morning to you too, Xavier. The usual will be fine, thanks." The man nodded in answer, and walked out of the room. He returned shortly after, carrying a tray loaded with a bowl of cereal, half a grapefruit, a glass of milk, as well as a glass of fresh orange juice. Llewellyn thanked the man, knocked back the orange juice, and consumed the food at a fast pace. 

"So, what's the plan?" Crevan asked. 

Llewellyn shrugged. "Go to San Francisco, retrieve some money, get to Sunnydale, and see if we can't get our hands on some decent property. I would prefer to buy a house instead of just land, but if we can't find anything, we won't have any other choice."

"You and your damn focal points," Crevan grunted. "Most people worry about central heating, air-conditioning, the plumbing, the orientation, or whether or not the house has a pool. You worry about focal points of mystical energy, escape routes, possibilities of building bomb shelters and weapons lockers, and so on."

Llewellyn gave his student a wry grin. "I'm rich. I have earned the right to be eccentric."

Crevan snorted. "Eccentric? Downright nuts is more like it." Samantha laughed, almost choking in her cereal. 

"Call it what you like, but as a druid, I need a focal point." Llewellyn finished up along with his two companions. "Alright, ready to go?"

"Yep," Samantha said, barely able to contain her excitement. She always loved the way people groveled before her father while doing business, and never missed an opportunity to witness such an event. Crevan just tagged along because…well, because he had nothing better to do, really. As a professional thief he had no jobs at the moment, and he was more than glad to spend some time with his teacher. After all, they had been apart for 50 years before reuniting a couple of years ago. It happened regularly that the two immortals lost track of one another, not seeing each other for decades, once even centuries, before finding each other once again, and the friendship was rekindled. 

The three walked out of the Beverly Hills mansion, and stepped into the limousine that was waiting for them. Relaxing in the plush seats, they waited to be taken to LAX, where Llewellyn's private jet would take them to San Francisco.

Llewellyn stepped into the office of the Federal Reserve Bank he had phoned yesterday. Walking up to the man sitting at the desk, Llewellyn said,

"My name is Maddocson. I am here to pick up a package."

The guard looked strangely at Llewellyn, but decided to check his log anyway. He immediately straightened out, and Sam had trouble stifling a laugh at the poor guard's expense. 

"Yes, sir!" the man said, getting up. "Right this way, sir."

"Thank you," Llewellyn said, following the man. Crevan and Sam remained in the lobby. Llewellyn returned ten minutes later, carrying a briefcase. The three people returned to the limousine, and drove back to the airport, where Llewellyn's jet would take them back to Los Angeles. 

The limousine pulled up to the small group waiting in front of the apartment complex. The window rolled down, and Llewellyn stuck out his head.

The group, composed of Buffy, Xander, Willow, Oz, and Giles, looked strangely at the man. 

"Hello there," Llewellyn greeted. "Listen, since I'm moving here, I need a place to stay. Care to join us for a little house shopping? After all, you live here, so you sure would be able to tell me of all those nice spots no one knows about."

After casting a glance at each other, the teenagers jumped at the occasion, and stepped into the limousine. Giles declined, telling everyone that he had a lot of work to do. 

"Nice ride you have here," Oz commented, looking around the interior of the limousine. 

"It's a rental," Llewellyn commented. "Since I'm going to be throwing around a lot of money, I thought I'd better act like the rich are supposed to act."

"What? Snobbish and self-centered?" Sam shot. 

"Funny, Sam. Real funny. Expect a double workout load," Llewellyn shot back. Samantha calmed down real fast, and looked dejectedly at the floor of the large limo. 

"Got ya!" Llewellyn said, laughing hard. Everyone else shared a laugh on Sam's expense as well, right before they pulled up to a real estate agent, the only one Sunnydale had. 

A couple of hours later, the entire group was standing in front of a large mansion, placed in the center of a large garden. Unfortunately, the house had been abandoned for nearly seven yeas, and as such, the paint was peeling off the exterior walls, while the garden needed a serious fixing-up. 

"It's really large," the real estate agent said, "and the price is low because it hasn't been lived in for seven years."

Llewellyn tuned out the sales talk, and walked up the house, which held about 5 acres of surrounding grounds. Due to abandonment, the gardens had grown wild, which was a real shame. Llewellyn knew this place had a focal point somewhere. He could feel it reverberate through the wild-running nature surrounding him. Llewellyn closed his eyes, and inhaled the sharp sent that was testimony to wild flowers.

"Why is it abandoned?" Llewellyn asked the agent.

"The previous owners died, and there was no will, or any living relatives. So, the building is put up for sale, but, as you can see, the building requires some work. Most people don't seem to have either the patience, or the funding, to give this house back its original splendor."

"How is the interior?" Crevan asked, as he walked up to his friend, and knew that it was up to him to be the voice of reason now. Llewellyn had found his focal point, and he was too engrossed in it. Crevan would have to investigate the building. 

"You're kidding, right?" Xander asked. "This place is huge!"

"It's a little dusty, but perfectly safe," the agent said quickly, materializing a key and stepping up to the large front door. The house was erected in the style of 18th century England, giving it a classic appearance. It was classically rectangular in shape, while maintaining the small tower-like appendages on the corners that are characteristic for a lot of styles, all the way to the early 20th century. 

The agent opened the door, allowing everyone to come inside. As the man had said, dust had settled down in the building due to a lack of cleaning. Crevan noted that the hardwood floors were still strong, and that the structure of the building was still sound. If Llewellyn fell in love with the focal point and the nature outside the house, then truly Crevan, who enjoyed culture and beauty, fell in love with the interior of the mansion. 

"This is the large entrance hall," the agent superfluously noted. "The large staircase leads to the second and third floors, which I will show you after covering the ground floor."

The flying staircase was made entirely out of tropical hardwood, beautifully decorated with woodcarvings. It stood on the right side of the hall. The group let themselves be guided by the agent as he opened the first door to the left of the entrance hall. There were lots of rooms on the ground floor that were really nothing more than lounges. One had a concert Steinway piano, while the others just had different views of the surrounding estate.

"This is the kitchen," the agent said. "Since the last owners passed on, the entire building remains as it was. Everything is still intact." Llewellyn noted that the kitchen was indeed fully stocked, but that there would still need to be done a lot of work. He shrugged it off. Money was no problem, and Marie would take care of the kitchen. She was the cook, so this was her territory. Llewellyn made a mental note, indicating that the kitchen was large, and that it was laid out in a thought-out manner. A lot could be done with it. 

"This is the dining hall," the agent noted, pleased that he had a captivated crowd. He could smell a sale…and selling this place was sure to get him a lot of prestige. The dining hall was, like most of the house, decorated with wood, and woodcarvings. The large table could seat at least five people on each of its long sides, and one person at the head and the end, making around 12 people in total. Two chandeliers hung from the ceiling. 

"Nice," Crevan noted. He couldn't suppress a smile when he heard Xander make a snide comment to his companions. 

"The lounge," the agent noted, pushing open the door. After showing the main lounge, which still held a TV-set, as well as stereo set, the agent led them back into the main hall. "This is the ballroom."

A large room greeted the group. Llewellyn's mind started working once more, giving the man the idea of turning this room into the main training room. Leading them back into the main hall, the agent showed them to a door to the left of the staircase. 

"This is the library." The room was literally stacked with books, arranged in cases running all the way up to the ceiling. A small ladder was there as well, to allow access to the top shelves. 

"Now, there is one more thing I have to show you before we'll go up," the agent told the group, and guided tem into the kitchen. "Namely, the cellar." He guided them through a door, and materialized a flashlight. 

"The cellar extends to the dimensions of the house, and it used to be a wine-cellar, and a storage space. The largest part of it has never been used."

_Forget the ballroom. I'll put the training room in here._ Llewellyn thought. _And there's plenty of room for other projects, too._

After the agent showed them around on the second and third floors, which consisted of bedroom and bathrooms mostly, he guided them to the back of the main hallway. "This is one of the access doors to the veranda."

A large construction of wood and glass greeted them, as did the sight of an empty pool. As with the rest of the house, the veranda could use some work. 

"There is both an in- and outdoor pool, as well as a tennis court," the agent supplied, seeing Sam's eyes lit up at the sight of the pool. She was used to having one in the Beverly Hills mansion, and wasn't keen on giving it up. "Although I'm afraid the court has been overrun by nature."

"Doesn't matter," Llewellyn said. "That can be fixed. What I am wondering about Mr. Morris, is why your agency allowed this house to fall into disrepair like this?"

Morris looked embarrassed at the ground. "There is a large cost connected to maintaining this estate, and business hasn't been going well…"

"I see," Crevan said. 

"I think I'll take it," Llewellyn said. If he made up his mind, he acted on it. "Let's head back to the office, and sign the papers."

The agent nodded vigorously, agreeing with his client, of course, and led the group out of the house. Getting into the limousine, conversation was quite subdued. Everyone was more or less engrossed in his or her own thoughts. 

Not ten minutes later, everyone was in the office as the agent pushed some papers over to Llewellyn.

"If you want to have an attorney look them over…" the agent offered. 

"That won't be necessary," Llewellyn said, taking the papers, and reading them. Not five minutes later, he nodded, put them down, and signed. 

"Great!" Morris exclaimed. "And how would you like the payment to happen?" 

Llewellyn put the briefcase on the table. Everyone had noticed the case, but no one had commented on it. After all, Llewellyn said he wanted to look like a businessman, and no businessman is complete without a briefcase. Llewellyn snapped open the locks, and started pulling out bundles of money. The real estate agent's eyes went open to the size of saucers, while Sam and Crevan smirked. The teenagers stared along with the agent. 

"Cash will do fine, won't it?" Llewellyn asked as he put bundles of 1000$ notes on the table. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen. That's one million three hundred thousand dollars." 

Morris grabbed for one of the bundles, still in the wrappers of the SF Federal Reserve Bank. There were indeed one hundred notes per bundle, giving it a worth of one hundred thousand dollars. 

"Oh, yes," Morris grunted, practically drooling over the fortune on his desk. "Just fine. Here are the ownership papers and the keys, Mr. Morgan. Now, is there anything else we can do? Wait! I almost forgot."

The man stepped out of his office, and disappeared down the hall. 

"Now I see why you insisted on bringing cash. You almost gave that man a heart-attack when you started laying out money!" Crevan said, laughing. 

"One of my favorite games. No one expects to have money shoved down their throats," Llewellyn smirked back as he pocketed the keys, and put the ownership papers in his case. They were only temporary, until ownership could be transferred legally to Llewellyn.

The real estate agent returned shortly with a tray, covered with flutes of champagne, and glasses of orange juice. Serving drinks to his clients, the agent couldn't help but feel proud of himself. Not only had he closed the deal, but he had gotten CASH as payment as well. His boss had nearly lost his eyes; so far did they bulge out when the news had been told. 

Llewellyn made quick work of things. He made some phone calls, and returned to his new home that very same day with two architects, two landscape architects, as well as an interior decorator. Plans were made up, and Llewellyn made a few calls to the construction company he owned. It was not the standard construction company, specializing in special jobs for special people. They worked secretly, fast, and did an excellent job. Llewellyn made sure of that. His orders were simple: only the best of the best could work there, and everyone involved needed to keep their mouths shut. 

So, he phoned Bob Powell, the head of the company, on the evening of his new purchase. 

"Bob, I bought a house, and need to fixed up," Llewellyn said after pleasantries were exchanged. Bob always held a high interest in Sam. For some reason, everyone liked the girl, and always wanted to know how she was. 

"Really? Congratulations. So, what needs to be done?" Bob said amicably. 

"It's in Sunnydale, California. It's a large country-house, erected in mid-18th century English style. It's been empty for seven years, so I want it restored. I also want it altered to the plans I'm faxing you right now."

Llewellyn could hear Bob whistling into the phone. "Nice place. Must've cost a fortune. It's doable, though. Two months? Three?"

"Think weeks, Bob."

"WEEKS? I might be able to do the house, but the gardens…"

"Just get the house ready. The estate can wait until after the house is done."

Llewellyn could almost hear Bob sigh through the phone. "Double crews, three shifts around the clock? You do have power there, don't you?"

"All utilities have already been connected, Bob. No problem."

"WHAT? You bought the freakin' place today, and you already have full utils?" 

"You need to know who to talk to," Llewellyn said back calmly. "So, can you start tomorrow?"

"What about permits, clearances, etc?"

"All taken care of. You just get your butt over to the place tomorrow at six, and bring the first two crews with you. I'll show you everything is in order, and you can get started."

"Alright, Boss," Bob said, with obvious respect. Someone who can get all the paperwork done within hours of buying a house deserved nothing but respect. "I'm sure the men will be glad to work for you again. They enjoyed last time, showing you around, teaching you the trade."

"I enjoyed working with them, too. Now, are you going to get organized, or will I be needing coffee for our little talk?" 

"Ha, ha," Bob grunted. "Very funny. I'll see you tomorrow, okay Boss?"

"Tomorrow, five thirty. You be there." 

"I will. Don't worry."

Llewellyn put down the phone, and turned to Crevan. "All taken care of, just like I said."

Crevan shook his head. "You're still the same. When you set your mind on something, things move fast."

"I've had a lot of experience. I don't like things going slow," Llewellyn answered. As he was about to leave, Crevan stopped him.

"Hob about your new charge? You started breaking her in yet?"

"I'll do that after the house is finished. I need to be there in case she decides to run."

"You animal," Crevan grunted in Llewellyn's ear with a certain undertone before leaving the room with a satisfied smirk on his face. Llewellyn resisted the urge to draw his sword and give his student another lesson.

"Fucking pervert," Llewellyn mumbled to himself. 

The next day, the construction crews began their work on the mansion. At about seven in the evening, Llewellyn walked up to the site. 

"Hey, Boss!" the foreman said jovially when he recognized Llewellyn. He was a jovial man in his mid-forties. 

"Hey, Mark. How are things going?" Llewellyn asked the foreman. 

"Everything's right on schedule. Couldn't be better."

"Great. Listen, I'll be hanging around for the night, to keep you guys out of trouble," Llewellyn said deadpan. 

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?" the foreman was genuinely perplexed.

"The usual Type I and Type II vampire."

"Oh, great. Just what are we building?"

"My house, what else?" Llewellyn asked, face impassive. 

"Then why are vampires attracted to it?" the man asked, with just the barest hint of fear in his eyes. 

"Because this is Sunnydale, better known as the Hellmouth."

The foreman gulped. "Great. Just great…"

"Don't worry, Mark. I'll be keeping you safe," Llewellyn promised, and started his walk around the construction site. Because the gardens were being kept for last, Llewellyn only walked around the house, which didn't take that long. 

Later that night, Buffy dropped by on her evening patrols. The construction worker's night was made. As soon as she resumed her patrols, the men started chattering about the cute blonde. They did make sure that it never came to Llewellyn's ears. They saw how he dealt with her, and they also knew more than enough about the demonic underbelly of the world not to underestimate someone who Llewellyn treated almost as an equal. 

The night passed uneventfully, and Llewellyn returned to Beverly Hills to get some sleep. He could sustain himself for a long time on five hours of sleep, so that's just what he did. 

The nights passed quietly, with Llewellyn and Crevan alternating guard duty. 

One night, when Llewellyn was on duty, a group of vampires made their move. Having observed the construction for quite some time, they decided that tonight would be the night they would teach the workers not to work at night. Or so they thought. 

"Hello, mate. Nice night, isn't it?" the leader of the gang, a blonde vampire, asked in a London accent. 

"Yep," Llewellyn answered. "This is private property. Please, let's keep it a nice night, okay?" Llewellyn didn't feel like dealing with this jackass right now. 

"Sorry mate, can't do that. You see," with this, the vampires switched on their 'game face', "I'm hungry. And so are my mates here."

"Hungry, huh?" Llewellyn asked. The vampires stared at the man who didn't even raise an eyebrow. Llewellyn drew his sword.

"Come on! Get him!" the lead vampire shouted. Four vampires charged at Llewellyn. He ducked under the strike of the first vampire, sliced open his belly, and stabbed at a second, female vampire. The sword returned, decapitating the first vampire. Charging at the vampires, Llewellyn cut the head of the second and third vampire, before pulling a stake, and staking the fourth vampire. The four vampires disappeared at almost the same time. 

"Four Type I's. Not even worth getting my sword out for." As Llewellyn turned to face the leader, he found him missing. "Damn Type II's. Always running when the fun starts. Oh well, I'll get him later."

"Those were vampires?" Mark, the foreman, asked.

"Yep. Never seen one before?"

"Not from this close, no. Anyway, we're safe here with you guarding us. I swear, I never saw anyone move like that!" 

"That's because you haven't seen Buffy in action yet. As Slayer, she has some natural advantages, you know."

"She's faster than you?" the man asked, awed. Then, snapping out of it, he asked, "What kind of a name is Buffy?"

"Not yet, Mark. She's not as fast as me in a long shot. That's why I'll start training her when this place is ready. And she just prefers Buffy. Her real name is Elisabeth. Elisabeth Anne Summers."

Mark stared at Llewellyn; obviously trying to decide whether or not his boss had lost his marbles. "I like Elisabeth. Why not Lizzy? Or Anne? Anything wrong with Anne?"

"Hey, It's Buffy's choice. And I would prefer if you kept this to yourself. You don't want me angry, would you?" 

"No, sir! Boss-man, sir!" Mark stammered, faking freight. Laughing, he returned to his duties, leaving Llewellyn who was shaking his head in quiet amusement. He really liked these men. 

Spike ran for his life. He just witnessed the annihilation of four vampires, and it had startled him. He had gone up against Slayers, he had gone up against demons, but he never seen anyone like that before. So, he ran. He ran fast, long, and hard, until he reached his lair, and ducked inside. Once inside, rage took over, and he started yelling, shouting, and trashing the place. 

"Who is that guy?" Spike shouted.

Drusilla, his companion, started whimpering as his voice thundered through the underground lair. She had been tortured, physically and mentally, by the guy who later turned her. As such, Drusilla was … mentally ill. To call her insane wouldn't be overrated, but Spike generally killed people for calling his Dru insane.

"I'm sorry, Love. It's just that this guy drives me bonkers!" Spike said, first friendly and calm, then thundering once again as the guy who killed four vampires entered his mind once more. Drusilla clung to a puppet. 

"Ms. Edith says to read cards. Does Spike want me to read cards?" Drusilla asked, in a child-like voice.

"Sure, Love. You read the cards, while I go arrange for some surveillance on this guy."

Drusilla shuffled the cards, and started lying them open. Spike, who was about to leave, sat down again as she put the Death card on the table. 

"That's not good, is it?" Spike asked. Drusilla shrugged. 

"Transition. Inexorable forces. Ending. Elimination," she sang as she let her hand trail over the card. Spike stared. Drusilla laid out a second card, and stared at it. The card was labeled Judgment. "Opposing," she mumbled fearfully, almost whimpering. "Death, endings." 

"What? Death of who? Endings of what?" Spike asked, louder than he had meant to, as Drusilla recoiled, and started whimpering. "I'm sorry, Love. Please, go on."

Drusilla stared at the table for a few more moments before throwing a third card out on the table. The Tower. Drusilla really started whimpering now. "Sudden change. Release. Downfall. Revelation."

"Sudden change? Change of what?" Spike asked again, not believing a word of what was said. On the other hand, he had seen these cards predict things, and it unnerved him. 

Drusilla shrieked as the next card hit the table. The ten of cups. "Chaos! Upheaval!" she shouted, and started rocking back and forth. 

"Chaos?" Spike asked, eyes open and a noticeable paler tint on his already pale face. "What can we do? Dru? Love? There IS something we can do, right?" 

Shaking, Drusilla handed him the cards. Spike knew what to do. Shuffling the deck, he handed it back. Drusilla drew the top card. She covered her eyes in fright, and started shaking. "Knight of Wands. Cocky. Superficial. Not prepared."

Spike stared, then got Drusilla into bed. This was not one of his better nights. 

The next evening, as Crevan guarded the building site, Llewellyn joined Buffy on her patrols around Sunnydale. He wanted to observe her, determine her level of expertise. Buffy, never minding some company, agreed readily. 

"I'll be hanging back," Llewellyn told the blonde Slayer. "I need to see how good you are, and I can't do that when I'm fighting."

A vampire rose out of a nearby grave, almost as if it heard Llewellyn's statement. Buffy drew a stake, and buried it in the vampire's heart with a routine gesture. The patrol continued, and Llewellyn told Buffy about the vampire that ran for his life yesterday.

"Blond, accent, and a major attitude? Sounds like Spike," Buffy said, grinning. 

"Spike?"

"Yeah. He killed two Slayers already. Did you know that? Now he wants to add me to the list. Good for me he hasn't done it yet."

Llewellyn cocked his head to one side. "Well, he was running yesterday. That's so typical of a Type II vampire."

"Type II?" Buffy asked. 

"I catalogued vampires in three types. The Type I is the standard run-of-the-mill vampire, the ones you stake by the dozens. Then there is the Type II. Stronger, older, and usually have earned both the respect and fear of other vampires. Guys like Spike are Type II's. Then there are the Type III vampires… Type III vampires are Master Vampires. The ones like I fought a little over a week ago."

"You HAVE been doing this for a long time, haven't you?" Buffy asked rhetorically. 

"For fifteen hundred years. Ever since…" A cloud came over Llewellyn's face, and he stared out into the distance. _Ingrid…_his mind called. _Ingrid, my love…_

Buffy decided not to query too deep; first of all, because she didn't know Llewellyn that well, and secondly because she didn't want to know what could be haunting him after a millennium and a half. 

Conversation halted at this point, and both Slayer and Master walked along in total silence. Both were immersed in his or her own thoughts, with Buffy thinking of school, among other stuff. Llewellyn's mind was back to the plains of Europe, 1500 years ago, with Ingrid. Suddenly Ingrid's beautiful angelic face with chestnut brown hair disappeared as Llewellyn's instincts warned him.

_Type II!_ His mind shouted. He dove into the bushes without as much as a warning to Buffy. The next moment, a vampire flew out of the bushes, followed by a stoic Llewellyn, wielding his sword. The vampire, flat in his back, rolled away, managing to barely avoid Llewellyn's blade.

However, Llewellyn was no ordinary opponent, and the vampire would soon find that out. The sword changed directions astonishingly fast, and the vampire could feel death approaching him.

"NO!" Buffy shouted. Llewellyn's blade kept racing. For a moment, Buffy was afraid he hadn't heard her, but then the blade stopped, right under the vampire's chin. One wrong move, and the blade would decapitate the undead creature. 

"He done something to you, and you want to finish him yourself?" Llewellyn asked, not taking his eyes off the creature. 

"That's Angel," the Slayer said, as if that should explain everything. Recognition dawned on Llewellyn. 

"Angelus? Soul-vamp Angelus?"

"That one," Angel whispered, offering a small nod. He didn't dare do more, as the blade was awfully close to his neck. 

"I was hunting you when those idiot gypsies cursed you with a soul. I made a vow that I would kill you if you ever hunted again, or if you ever lost your soul." Llewellyn lifted the blade, and sheathed it. "Remember, one moment of true happiness will steal that soul from you. It will be my pleasure to rip you to tiny shreds then."

"Listen, ehm…"

"Call me …" he shot a crooked grin at Buffy before returning to his stoic self, and looking back as the vampire. "…Dominus Necarum."

"You…you are Dominus Necarum?" 

"The one and only." Llewellyn reached out, grabbed the vampire by the collar of his coat, and lifted him off the ground, into an upright position. "Remember my promise. You lose more than just your soul." The vampire nodded vigorously. 

"Where did you find this guy?" Angel asked Buffy after Llewellyn released him. "Every vampire is scared to death of him!"

"No wonder, if you've been doing it for fifteen hundred years," Buffy said, smirking. 

"WHAT?" Angel asked, realization finally setting in. The man had said that he was hunting Angel at the time he was cursed… that realization finally set in as well. "How?" Angel finally asked. 

"I know things. Ancient things. Things that are none of your stinking business," Llewellyn said to the vampire, while shooting a warning glance at Buffy. 

"Will you stop it? Angel is a good guy!" Buffy shouted at her soon-to-be teacher. 

"Until he knows love," Llewellyn answered. Suddenly, his blade shot out, and disappeared back into the sheath in a flash. Angel's coat fell open, cut in a straight line. "Remember. I am faster, stronger, and better than you."

Buffy looked at Angel, who looked at Llewellyn with just the barest hint of fear showing through in his eyes. Finally, she turned to Llewellyn.

"Will you stop scaring him? He's been HELPING us!"

"Good for him. Now SCRAM!" Llewellyn shouted at the vampire, who disappeared in the bushes with a superhuman speed. Llewellyn smirked inwardly. He hated those damn Gypsy curses. They complicated everything. If they would just let him kill the vampires, it would be so much easier. But no! They wanted revenge, and let the vampire suffer for eternity. Well, eternity wasn't that long, because with all the artificial happy-making drugs, it was very possible that a soul-vampire lost his soul. And that is where Llewellyn would be, to get rid of the pests.

Buffy couldn't help but admire Llewellyn. She knew Angel's abilities, and Llewellyn had literally torn him to pieces without as much as breaking a sweat. On the other hand, the look in Angel's eyes was not something she would forget soon, either. 

Over the course of the next two weeks, Crevan and Llewellyn continued to guard the construction site, with Buffy regularly dropping in on her evening patrols. Finally, the day arrived when the house was ready, the Llewellyn could move into his new home with Sam. Crevan, being highly mobile, just drove his bike over. Everything he needed was in his saddlebags. 

Buffy and her friends were astonished at the speed at which Llewellyn and Sam unpacked, stowed everything away, and made the new house a home. A lot had been done to the house. Optical lines had been installed, enabling each room in the house to have at least one socket at which a computer could be linked to the main server in the basement. Reinforcements had also been installed, including stainless steel shutters. The wooden floors had been replaced with new ones, and the walls had been refurnished, giving them back their old shine. 

In the living room, a big screen TV had been installed, along with eight speakers set up in an elaborate sound system. Everything was of the highest quality, and no one doubted that Llewellyn spent at least another half a million to get the house in its current state. 

Llewellyn was standing next to Buffy in the ballroom. 

"I wanted to apologize," Buffy began. 

"For what?" Llewellyn asked, confused. 

"For lying… we didn't know if we could trust you…you see, and…when you first got here….and when we told you I died a year ago…"

"It wasn't," Llewellyn finished. Buffy shook her head. "Just about five months…"

"I see," Llewellyn said, his face standing dark, and sad. Buffy, scared she might have done some irreparable damage, gingerly came closer. Llewellyn then looked at her, a smile beaming on his face. "I already knew that, but thanks for telling me anyway."

"You _what_?" Buffy stammered. 

"It wasn't that hard to figure out… you fought an 800-year-old vampire, got killed, revived, kicked him through the ceiling of the library, onto a sharp piece of wood. I just read some old papers, and found out that the damage correlated to five months ago."

Swatting him on she shoulder, she asked, "Then why didn't you tell me? Why make me come to you, scared out of my wits, only to find out you already _knew_?"

Shrugging, Llewellyn answered, "Because it was your call to make. And I knew that, once you told me, you and your friends trusted me completely. I'm glad you did before we started our training. I wouldn't have liked training someone who didn't trust me."

Buffy blushed, and stared at the ground. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't worry about it. Now, let's get on with your first training session," Llewellyn said, putting his hand on her shoulder, causing her to look up at him. "I have seen you fight on several occasions, but now I would like you to fight me," he added, breaking away from her, and standing not too far away. Just within fighting distance.

"Are you sure about that?" the Slayer asked. "I mean, I don't want to hurt you."

To her surprise, Llewellyn actually smiled. "If you hurt me, it's a good sign. Don't worry. Now, get into position."

Buffy got into a combat stance; her fists clenched and held in front of her. Llewellyn also got into a stance, one she didn't recognize. Instinctively, she knew it was some kind of martial art, but consciously, she had no idea _which_ martial art.

Taking a swing, she never expected Llewellyn to move that fast. Her fist was grabbed, and twisted. Buffy found herself on her back. Jumping up, she kicked at her teacher, who ducked under it. She kept kicking and punching, not once managing to hit Llewellyn, who darted out of the way with an agility that was totally contrary to his length. 

"Not bad," Llewellyn said. "Okay, let's get started."

"With what?" Buffy asked. 

"Something fun," Llewellyn enigmatically answered. He walked to the hi-fi installation in the corner of the ballroom. Music started playing as Llewellyn pressed the play button. 

Buffy stared at him, quite unsure of what to think. 

"This is music from South America, Brazil to be precise. It's music made especially for the martial arts style called 'Capoeira'."

Ignoring Buffy, Llewellyn went on, "You see, slaves were forbidden to practice martial arts. So, they invented the Capoeira. It's fighting, disguised as dancing. In fact, it's much more than just a martial art, because it includes music, singing, and so on. But I won't bother you with that just yet."

Buffy stared even more at the man as he started dancing. Nothing major. He started out with his legs lightly apart. Then he fell out to the left, his right leg extended far behind him. He then shifted his right leg to the front, bringing his left leg to his rear. He then repeated, moving form left to right, one leg up front, one leg at his rear. His upper body swayed with the rhythm.

"I am NOT doing that!" Buffy exclaimed. "What's the purpose?"

"The Ginga is the basis for moves like these," Llewellyn explained, started doing various high-kicks, somersaults, cartwheels, and punch-kick combos. Being the Capoeira, the style was fundamentally different form the oriental martial arts. It was faster, more built around agility then strength. That didn't mean that a hit from a Capoeira mestre wouldn't do damage. Capoeria is very acrobatic while in training, but when used in combat, a capoeirista could whip out a devastating blow in less than a second. Buffy stared at Llewellyn. 

"Cool," she said. 

"Now, would you care to try?" Llewellyn asked, making an inviting gesture. Shrugging, Buffy got into position. She didn't notice the fact that Llewellyn wanted to sigh. He also asked himself if Buffy would continue to question everything he asked her to do.

"They used to perform this with knives tied to their feet," Llewellyn told Buffy before hitting the remote control, to restart the CD. Llewellyn started pointing out the Ginga to the Slayer. After some practice, Buffy once again asked why she should be learning this, instead of building on her already existing martial arts skills. 

Llewellyn stopped the music. 

"As I said, this teaches you speed and agility more then brute strength. But, if you don't want to learn it, we can go to something else."

"Good idea," Buffy answered. So, Llewellyn took Buffy to the training room in the basement, where various fitness devices were located, some of which the Slayer didn't even recognize. 

"You want brute strength, right?" Llewellyn asked. "Amelioration of your current skills?" As Buffy nodded 'yes', Llewellyn took her to a strange looking contraption. It resembled a punching bag, only it wasn't suspended from the ceiling. The punching bag was connected to a machine, supported both on the top and at the base by thick metal supports. 

"This device measures the strength with which you hit the bag. Don't worry about breaking it, it's built to withstand a small car hitting it," Llewellyn explained as he switched on the machine. To demonstrate, he hit the bag with one hand. The machine jerked under the force, and gave a read-out.

"First training, hit it with your left hand, then your right hand, then your left foot and finally with your right foot. One hundred times all four of them."

"What? Why?" the Slayer asked her teacher. 

"To teach you combination moves. If you have done it one hundred times, you'll be able to do it combat. You'll see. Your speed will increase, and so will your accuracy. You see the red square painted on it, right? Hit it. That's the ideal point. Now, I'll be upstairs, and take a look at Sam. Enjoy yourself, Buffy." 

"Gee, thanks," the Slayer answered sarcastically, and set to work. She had to confess that both the speed and accuracy of her hits began to increase. She finished in what she thought was an acceptable time, and dried her forehead with a towel Llewellyn had left behind. Not seeing her teacher, Buffy climbed the stairs to the ground floor. 

Soft music greeted her, and Buffy recognized it as the Capoeira music Llewellyn had played earlier. Following her ears, Buffy walked to the ballroom, and pushed open the door. She noticed Crevan, who was clapping his hands along with the music. He was looking at Sam and Llewellyn engaged in what must have been the most intense aerobic workout session Buffy had ever seen. Samantha was dressed in a pink tank top; with matching pink sweat pants reaching halfway down to her knees. Llewellyn was wearing white loose-sitting pants, and was bare from the waist up. Buffy could clearly see the strong muscles ripple across both bodies.

As Llewellyn's leg went close to the floor, obviously going at Samantha's legs, the girl jumped up, made a somersault, and twisted her body. Her leg shot out, creating a devastating force as the centrifugal force of both somersault and twist was combined. Llewellyn dodged by doing a full spread, and bending his body forward. He jumped up, and made a one-handed handstand to avoid Sam's follow-up attack.

Buffy also noted that both were enjoying themselves immensely. She recognized immediately that all the somersaults, flips, and handstands were not useful in battle. But the basis, the combination of the kicks and the bending and twisting of the body, was potentially devastating. She recognized what Llewellyn had told her: speed was just as lethal as brute strength.

Crevan made an inviting motion, and Buffy walked over to him, making sure not to disturb the two fighters. 

"Come on kid, get in the rhythm!" Crevan encouraged her. Turning back to the man and the girl, he muttered to Buffy, "Wonderful players, aren't they? Capoeira isn't really my style, but Samantha really enjoys it."

"Hey!" Buffy grunted, affronted. "I'm NOT a kid!" 

"What? You want me to call you 'squirt'? 'Girl'?" Crevan whispered back, not interrupting the rhythm. 

"What's wrong with Buffy?" she asked, finally starting to gently clap along on the rhythm. 

Crevan shrugged. "Everyone calls you Buffy. It's so dull. But, if you want Buffy, Buffy you'll get." 

"Thank you," Buffy said, focusing on the two players. "Wait a minute. You called them 'players'. Why?" 

Crevan smiled. "Capoeira is played, not fought. Fighting is when people get hurt. This is playing. The dancing, the friendly attitude is what Capoeira is really about. From that, it's very different from the other martial arts. Other martial arts are always telling you to focus, to conquer your body, and so on. Capoeira is about making friends, enjoying yourself, and having fun. The martial art is just one of the things."

"I see," Buffy whispered. Suddenly, Crevan doubled his rhythm. The music gave one beat, and Crevan gave two. 

Llewellyn and Samantha briefly cast a smile at Crevan, and the style changed. It was more close to the ground, and all the flying kicks had disappeared. 

"The original form, Angola," Crevan explained. "Great for building muscle, and is better for learning traps and takedowns. Normally, it's performed slow, but these two prefer it fast." 

Buffy nodded in answer, wrapped up in the strange sensations hitting her brain. For one, she was actually beginning to enjoy the music. Then, Samantha held up her arms as Llewellyn's foot halted right in front of her chest. Samantha was panting heavily, her pink tank top dark with sweat. She started toweling off. 

The next day Buffy walked up the path running up to Llewellyn's mansion. She had become used to the fact that workmen were crawling all over the place, now working with a third crew to get the gardens ready. What she still hadn't become used to, however, was the fact that work progressed at an almost impossible rate. She saw people rolling out mats of grass over even terrain that had been a wasteland yesterday. She didn't want to think about what would be done to the largest part of the garden that was hidden behind the house. 

The blonde Slayer opened the door, using the key Llewellyn had handed out to very member of the Scooby Gang, as Xander called them. He had invited everyone over yesterday, and no one seemed to mind that the regular meetings would now be held in Llewellyn's spacious and luxurious home. Letting herself into the ballroom, she waited for her teacher to show up. 

When she had waited for fifteen minutes, Buffy checked the hallway, and upon finding it deserted, she checked the rest of the house. Finding it equally deserted, Buffy frowned. Where could Xavier, Crevan, Sam, or Marie be? Buffy smiled as she remembered the brunette French woman she had met yesterday. When everyone had gathered, Marie had shown up, sporting a tray with snacks, and a tray with drinks. Llewellyn had told the woman she didn't have to do that, since she was officially off-duty, but Marie had insisted that 'You've been good to us. It's my pleasure to help out'.

Wandering to the back of the house, Buffy pushed open the large double doors to the veranda. The veranda had already been fixed, and the indoor pool had been filled. Walking around it, Buffy opened the door to the backyard. Strangely, she found no people working here. She did hear something, and decided to investigate. It sounded like a flute…playing a melody so heart wrenching it brought tears to the Slayer's eyes from the first couple of notes. 

She followed a small path that was obviously among the first things to be put in order, as it was already lined with pine trees, hiding it from view. Deciding not to dwell on how the trees seemed to have sprung fully-grown from the ground, she followed the path. The music became stronger, and Buffy turned the corner at the end of the straight line of pebbles that was the small path 

There, she found a circular clearing, with a temple build in the exact middle of it. The circular clearing was lined with the same trees as the borders of the path were, and the temple seemed to resemble the outer circle of the Stonehenge construction. Eight small megaliths stuck up three meters into the air, with blocks of stone lining the circle. Buffy stood there, watching, as she had found her teacher. 

Llewellyn was sitting against one of the upright stone, facing the only megalith that actually seemed old. The rest looked brand new, with no moss, no cracks, and straight lines that seemed to be cut with laser-precision. The stone Llewellyn was facing was worn, didn't stand as straight as the others, but still seemed to be more than able to uphold its share of the upper circle. Buffy also noticed that the old stone was engraved with signs she didn't recognize. 

Llewellyn's back was facing the Slayer, so the girl was still guessing at the instrument Llewellyn was playing. It sounded like a flute, but then again, it did not. And then there was the heart-wrenching pain that seemed to resonate from the very notes Llewellyn elicited from his mysterious instrument. Unable to contain herself much longer, the Slayer sniffed away at tears that were forming in her eyes. 

Forcing herself to remain quiet, Buffy pressed her handkerchief against her nose as she listened, taking in the strange view. She had always seen Llewellyn be strong. Even after passing out from fighting the Master Vampire he had seemed strong. But now, the sagged shoulders, and the sad posture told Buffy of a whole different side to her teacher. She knew she was probably invading something private, something special, but then again, something compelled her to stay. She didn't know if it was the mysterious music, which style she didn't recognize, or if it was the fact that she was discovering a new side to her teacher. 

Llewellyn broke off the music, and got up. Buffy startled, and wanted to jump back. She then saw him move forward, and finally got a look at the flute. She recognized the material as some kind of bone, and Buffy immediately knew where the strangeness of the sound had come from. All present day instruments were either metal, or wood. Bone instruments were no longer in use.

Buffy saw Llewellyn kneel down in front of the old stone, and began to whisper in a language she didn't understand, or even knew it origins from.

Llewellyn was talking in the old east-Frankish language Ingrid had spoken. 

"My Love… one thousand five hundred and three years ago I made a vow. A vow to hunt, and kill, any vampire that crossed my path. Almost every year I renewed my vow to you, and this year is no different." Llewellyn knew there was no sense in lying to his dead wife's spirit. There were times that he was just…unable to take the vow. Timujin's time sprung into his mind, among others, and Llewellyn repressed the thought as soon as it had risen. Taking a knife from under the white robe he was wearing, Llewellyn cut his hand. 

"I, Llewellyn Demonhunter, husband to Ingrid Demonhunter, vow by the force of life's essence running through my veins that I will hunt and kill any of the nosferatu that cross my path," he said, as the blood dripped onto the grass. Removing the knife form the wound, Llewellyn allowed the wound to close. It would be gone within minutes. "I love you, my Love," Llewellyn said, and kissed the stone. It was engraved with the Frankish signs that declared Ingrid's name, as well as her ancestry. Llewellyn kissed the symbols of her name. 

Someone tapped her shoulder, and Buffy managed to catch herself before giving a startled yelp. She did jump, though. Twisting around, angrily, Buffy dropped into a posture, ready to fight. Before her stood Crevan. Signaling her to follow, he led the way back to the house. Behind her, the music picked up once again, and Buffy's heart clenched at the sadness in the tones. The small journey was finished in total silence, and Buffy became worried. Very worried. 

Crevan led the Slayer into the dining room, where Samantha was picking at a sandwich. Motioning for Buffy to sit down, Crevan sat down next to his niece. Gingerly, Buffy sat down. Neither Crevan nor Samantha spoke, and Buffy became even more worried. The silence caused her to think of Llewellyn. Not the strong warrior she had seen until now, but the man who was obviously very hurt, and whom she had spied on during a very private moment. 

"Today is the 1503rd birthday of the death of Llewellyn's wife," Crevan finally said. It drove a stake through Buffy's heart. She realized this was not just any moment she had intruded on. "He honors it every year, and we all know to give him the privacy he needs. Xavier is out with Marie, doing grocery shopping, and stocking up our supplies. I was gone to pick up Sam."

"I'm sorry…" Buffy said, eyes tearing up. "I didn't know…when I got here, there was no one home, and I…. And I heard the music…"

"Llewellyn loved the woman with all his heart, Buffy. Even after all this time, he still honors her. I'm sure he won't be angry, I just want you to know what it was you witnessed," Crevan assured Buffy. "But I would come forward with it."

The Slayer nodded, staring at the table. "I don't think today is such a good idea, though," Sam added. "I don't think it's a good idea to train with dad either… his mind's not with him."

Buffy glanced up at the ten-year-old, who gave a small smile. Crevan looked as if he knew from experience what Samantha was talking about. Buffy nodded. 

"How about the meeting for tonight?" Buffy asked. 

"It might take his head off things, but it might be a good idea to warn the others," Sam told the Slayer. "He might be nothing more than a mindless zombie."

"This day always hits him hard," Crevan muttered. 

"Well, I'll be off, then… no need to disturb you further. See you later?" Buffy asked, getting up. Samantha gave the Slayer a warm smile.

"Sure," the ten-year-old answered. Buffy smiled back, finally put at ease now. Crevan nodded, and told her he'd see her tonight. Buffy left the house, her mind occupied with what she had witnessed. She never would have thought that Llewellyn carried such pain with him. 

The meeting that evening was uneventful, and Buffy was even more impressed with her teacher. Not a single sign indicated the utter sadness that seemed to have enveloped him earlier. Buffy had warned her friends, so they had all avoided any references to Llewellyn's past. Since there were no real emergencies, the meeting didn't last long, anyway. Buffy had done her patrols afterwards, giving the Slayer time to think about what she had seen. She decided, out of curiosity, to try and pry more information about Llewellyn's wife from whomever she could get the information from. 

Days slid by, and on Monday Buffy's mood dropped through the ground. Career Week had started, and it told Buffy just what she needed to hear: that she probably never would hold a job, and that her line of work would probably be antisocial, and involve wooden stakes and nighttime cemeteries. After school, the down Slayer walks to the home of her teacher. She didn't feel like training today.

The moment Llewellyn saw Buffy, he knew something was wrong. 

"Care to tell me what the problem is?" Llewellyn asked right after he had said 'hello'. 

"School," Buffy grunted. 

"Bad grade?" Llewellyn asked. Buffy shook her head.

"Worse. Career Week."

Llewellyn looked carefully at the girl. "Alright…what's wrong with Career Week?"

He seemed to have struck a nerve, as the Slayer exploded in his face. "What career would I have? I'll be doing this for eternity! My career will probably involve stakes, cemeteries, and not leave much time for a social life!"

Llewellyn shrugged. "You're immortal now. A second Slayer has probably been called, so technically, you're free to do as you want. Of course, since you still have the abilities of the Slayer, it's not easy to give up. Certainly not with all the vampires running around Sunnydale."

"It still sucks!" Buffy grunted. 

"Sometimes, it can. But could you, with everything you've seen and done, just walk away? Turn your back on the demonic underbelly of the world, and live with a clear conscience? This isn't a job, Buffy. Being a Slayer is in your blood. It might not seem like it now, but one day, you'll understand."

Buffy stared at the ground. Llewellyn laughed, and grabbed her in a sideways hug. "Come on," he said. "Enough moping around. Let's go do something fun!" 

"Like what?" Buffy asked.

"There are lots of things. What do you want to do?" 

"I don't know," Buffy shrugged, her depression setting in again. 

"Oh, no, you won't!" Llewellyn exclaimed, seeing Buffy's face fall again. He remembered something Willow told him, when he asked her about Buffy's interests. "I know! It's been ages since I've been on skates. How about some ice-skating? I loved it back in the 1560's, with the Protestants fighting Spain."

Buffy's face lit up. "I like ice-skating," she answered. "I used to have a whole collection of Dorothy Hamill memorabilia. I even had the haircut. I wanted to be just as good as she was when I grew up."

"Really? Well, you'll have to forgive an old man who hasn't done it in a long time. I think I'm a little rusty," Llewellyn said as he guided the Slayer into the garage. After they got into the midnight-black Viper, Buffy's mood was definitely lifting. She couldn't help but wonder how Llewellyn always seemed to know just what would cheer her up. 

"Isn't this place a little…empty?" Buffy asked as they pulled up to the parking lot of the skating rink, after first picking up Buffy's gear at her house. the parking lot was indeed deserted. 

Llewellyn shrugged. "Don't worry about it," he said as the two of them got out of the car. "Crevan is not the only one who has contacts in the oddest places."

Ignoring the remark for now, Buffy followed Llewellyn inside, and started tying under the skates she had retrieved from her home. She never questioned the fact that her companion seemed to get effortlessly into the oddest places. She started tying her skates when she noticed that Llewellyn was observing her every move. 

"What?" the blonde Slayer asked.

"When I learned skating, skates were nothing more but irons that were strapped under your every day shoes," Llewellyn explained. "I haven't skated in…it must have been at least one hundred years. So, I'm learning how to tie skates," the man explained. Buffy just smiled, and showed her teacher how to tie skates. She found it amusing that the roles were reversed for a change, and she liked the feeling that this 1700-year-old man was actually listening to her. 

She was out on the ice first, and couldn't wait to see Llewellyn do the same. He stepped out of the dressing room, and onto the ice. His arms flailed a little as he regained his balance. He gave her an apologetic smile. "Rusty. Just like I said."

To Buffy's delight, Llewellyn had to be careful with his every move, but her fun soon changed as Llewellyn once again got the hang of things. It didn't take long or the Slayer was screaming in laughter as her teacher chased her. She once again forgot that her teacher, although not looking a day over 20, was in fact older than most modern countries. 

Llewellyn on the other hand, forgot his worries, and shed the burden of 1700 years of life, and enjoyed the frolicking with his student. So much he enjoyed himself that his mind didn't even think of the fact that he never had fun like this with Crevan. His subconscious did register, however, that he _should_ be having fun like this more often. Sure, he enjoyed his game of Capoeira with Sam, but he should be having fun with the girl, too. At a calmer interlude in their playing, Llewellyn couldn't help but think how he came across to the raven-haired girl… did she enjoy her life?

Deciding on asking later, Llewellyn pushed the thought from his mind as he chased an ever-bolder Buffy. For one of the few times in his long life, he felt like 20 years old again, and Llewellyn was sure he would try to make it last as long as possible.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed. Both skaters looked up at the ceiling, as if the source could be found there. "Now what?" Buffy grunted. 

When music started playing, and a couple of spotlights added to the mood, Llewellyn shook his head in quiet contemplation. 

"What?" Buffy asked, amused at her teacher's expression.

"Crevan. No doubt about it."

"What? He is doing this?" Buffy's voice didn't sound like she minded the mood creating by the 1000-year-old man. 

"Probably." Llewellyn shrugged, and skated to the center of the rink, and skidded to a halt, sending ice flying as he came to a brusque stop in the center. He held out his hand. "How about a dance?" Llewellyn asked his charge. "Let's give that impudent student of mine a show he won't forget." 

"I don't know if I'm _that_ good," Buffy quietly said, but she did skate over, and take Llewellyn's offered hand. 

"Hey, imagine how _I_ am. I haven't skated in a hundred years, remember? And even then, it was speed skating, not figure skating. Let's give it a try anyway."

"Alright," Buffy agreed, smiling slightly. Both stared at each other. 

"Uhm…" Buffy began.

"So…" Llewellyn added. "How do we do this? This isn't like normal dancing."

The Slayer shrugged. "How about we start with just skating around?"

"How about we don't chase each other, but improvise something on the spot?" Llewellyn offered. "Just 'show off' so to speak. I'm sure that'll get his attention." Llewellyn looked pointedly up at the box where he suspected Crevan to be, controlling the lights and the music. 

Half an hour later, Llewellyn and Buffy got off the ice, sated. Llewellyn was happy that he got the dark look off Buffy's face, and Buffy was just plain happy she had a teacher who now looked less dark then he normally did. When they were walking to the locker room, a brutish man an up to the two of them. Without warning, he attacked. 

As the man made a move against Buffy, Llewellyn tackled him. Fortunately for the Immortal, he was still wearing his skates, and the irons did a nice job of hurting the man. The guy jumped up almost immediately after, and charged Llewellyn. 

"Big mistake, pal," Llewellyn grunted, grabbed the man, and slammed him head-first into the nearest wall. Buffy cringed as the man's head gave out a sickening crunch. Once again, the man got up. Llewellyn's eyes locked onto a ring. A ring on the attacker's hand, and Buffy saw something cross her teacher's eyes. She had no idea what he had seen, however.

Llewellyn grabbed the man by his collar, and slammed him three times into the wall. "Who hired you, meat bag?" The brute snarled, and tried to grab hold of Llewellyn. Llewellyn's left hand dropped from the collar, grabbed the attacker's hand, and held it up. 

"This ring shows you are from the Order of Teraka. I want to know who hired you, and I want to know it now." Buffy stared at her teacher. Who was the Order of Teraka? She stared even harder the eerie calmness that was laced through the man's voice. 

"If you know of us, you know I won't speak!" the now helpless attacker snarled, trying to get a hit, or a kick, in. Buffy noticed that Llewellyn had one of his les pressed against the attacker's legs, holding them virtually immobile. That didn't keep him from struggling, though. 

"The Order doesn't know of me, because I have allowed no assassin ever to learn of my existence. They all perished. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." 

"Impossible! No man could have…" the assassin's voice trailed off. "Impossible! Unsubstantiated rumors!"

"What was it? 150? 200? 250? Answer me, shitbag! How much to get rid of me?"

"A hundred thousand for the girl. Two-fifty for you." 

At that moment, Crevan came running. "I thought I saw trouble. So, it looks like we've got ourselves an assassin of the Order of Teraka, huh? Nice to meet you. Last time we met, the price was 150 million, right?"

The assassin's eyes went wide. "Arcanus…Arcanus Bellator!" 

"Secret Warrior?" Llewellyn asked, casting a grin at his student. "I told you never to leave evidence! I taught you better than that!" 

The assassin stared at Llewellyn. "That's impossible!" the assassin growled. "Arcanus Bellator doesn't exist! Just like…" at this point, the assassin swallowed hard. "Noctu Mortificarum." 

"'Killer by night'?" Crevan asked his teacher. "You know, these guys really need to get their act together! Those names are corny!"

A hint of greed crossed the assassin's eyes just before fear set in. For the first time, he felt fear. Real fear. Mortal fear. The second man, the one named Arcanus Bellator was worth 175 million American dollars. 

The first one, the one holding him, was worth 250 million…but the man remembered the stories. Whole legions of assassins had been sent after them. Arcanus Bellator had killed them all, leaving their corpses to be found. As such, everyone knew he existed, and everyone left him alone. 

Everyone who went after Noctu Mortificarum disappeared, never to be found again. As such, he was a rumor, a shadow. No one believed he existed, but the price remained. Over the years, many who had tried to claim it, had disappeared.

"Now, shall we have fun, or are you going to ruin the mood, and tell us who hired you?"

"The Order will have me killed!" the man protested. 

"Fast," Llewellyn said. "Don't talk, and I'll kill you. Slow. After all, I was on the wrong side of the Spanish Inquisition. Nice guys. Pushy, though."

"Very pushy," Crevan agreed, nodding his head. "I hear branding was one of their favorites."

"And skinning. Sleep deprivation torture. And my personal favorite: you tied a guy up, and pour bucket after bucket of water down his throat." 

"That's just the beginning," Crevan said. "I hear they used to burn out the eyes."

"And crush a guy's balls with a sledgehammer."

The assassin started to whimper. Buffy was in shock, hearing these two talk torture as if they were discussing the weather. She had no idea what was going on, but so far, neither had actually lifted a finger. 

"Of course, we could try the Mongol Hordes… and break all the bones in his body. One…by…one," Llewellyn said slowly, leering at the man in his grasp. 

"A vampire! A vampire!" the man wailed. 

"Which one?" Llewellyn wanted to know. "You know, we could always push searing-hit needles under his nails."

Crevan nodded in perverse agreement. "And cut off his balls after crushing them." Even Buffy winced as she heard this. From what she had pieced together, the guy was an assassin working for some vampire. 

"Spike! His name was Spike! That's all I know!" 

"Thanks," Llewellyn said, snapping the assassin's neck like it was nothing. He turned to Buffy. "Bad news, I'm afraid. That guy works for something called the Order of Teraka. They've been around for a very long time. They're the best in the business, supplying assassins for whomever can afford it. Right now, our friend Spike issued a contract on the both of us. Don't worry, they won't get to fulfill that contract."

"Did…did you mean all that?" she asked in a small voice, pulling away from Llewellyn as he approached her. 

"What? The torture? No, of course not. That was called psychological warfare. You see, I made him believe I was going to do all those things, and that was enough." 

"So you weren't going to torture him?"

Llewellyn looked at Crevan. "No, Buffy. I could never do that."

"But I can," Crevan said. "I don't like doing it, but sometimes, there's just no other way." Crevan sounded really embarrassed about it. 

"Just…just…keep it away from me, okay?" Buffy grunted, her face twisting in revulsion. Crevan gave a small smile, and looked at Llewellyn. "We have something in common, then," Llewellyn told the Slayer. "I don't like it either, and I told him something along those lines a couple hundred years ago."

"No, you told me to stay the hell away from you, or you'd kick my ass to the moon," Crevan said, causing both Llewellyn and Buffy to laugh. Feeling better now that the Slayer didn't stare at them as if they were freaks, the two Immortals proceeded to go home, with Crevan going directly to the mansion after disposing of the body, and Llewellyn taking Buffy home first. 

Crevan was stalking. His mood had dropped to sub-zero, as it sometimes did, for no good reason. He knew what he needed to do, and so here he was: stalking the cemetery in the eerie half-dark of the early evening. The sun had set, and darkness was descending rapidly. 

"Come on," the Immortal grunted. "Isn't there a single vamp here? I need to bash something… and I need it bad."

He walked further, towards the heart of the cemetery, where the more elaborate graves of the wealthy were located. His mood lifted as he saw two vampires breaking into a mausoleum. He allowed the two undead to enter the small building, and stalked over to the entrance, silent as a cat. Leaning nonchalantly against the doorpost, he allowed the two to do as they pleased inside. _I wonder what they're up to in there. Oh well, I'll see what they came for when they get out._

Crevan's patience was everlasting, trained over hundreds of years of scouting out potential sites that could host a profit. He only stole from the rich, or from museums that had no idea what they were hosting. Over the years Crevan had acquired a lot of potentially apocalyptic artifacts, artifacts his teacher and best friend, Llewellyn, eagerly disposed of. 

In this case, Crevan's patience wasn't tested long, as the two undead emerged after half an hour. Pulling a stake, he dusted the first vampire. The second vampire, carrying something wrapped in rags, made a run for it as he saw his comrade fall. 

"Halt!" Crevan shouted. The vampire kept running. Grinning, Crevan shouted a second warning, "Halt, or I'll shoot!" the vampire ignored him. Crevan was actually smiling. "I mean it!" the Immortal shouted, and threw the stake. The vampire disappeared in a cloud of smoke, to be carried away by the wind. Crevan stalked over, took the bundle, and unwrapped it. His eyes shone as he saw the artifact inside. Wrapping the bundle up again, Crevan's mood lifted even more.

"This will be fun," the Immortal said, smirking. "Next stop, Willy's bar." 

Willy's bar was a place where vampires and demons came to have a good time. The owner, Willy, served all kinds: demons, vampires, and humans. In short, it was the best place to get some information. Crevan burst in, and strode to the bar. 

"Vodka," the immortal grunted. 

"A double?" the bartender asked. Crevan knew the bartender was no one other than Willy himself. 

"A bottle," Crevan said, throwing a couple of notes on the bar. The bottle appeared in front of the immortal in record time. Crevan took it, put it on his lips, and took two healthy swallows. "Not bad," Crevan said, looking at the bottle. He decided on scouting the place before making a move. Checking his watch, Crevan knew that he still had half an hour before the meeting at Llewellyn's place. Crevan gave a mental smile at the thought of showing his find. 

Suddenly, the doors were thrown open, and a man came in. he grabbed Willy, and started barking questions. Crevan had never met the man, but from the descriptions Llewellyn had given, the man shouting at Willy was Angel, the souled vampire. Crevan batted an eyebrow, but kept to himself. His ears were wide-open, using all the Ninja-tricks he knew to hear the conversation, a conversation that suddenly became quite subdued. 

_We already know Spike sent for Teraka. Nothing new there. Spike's up to something, nothing new there either. Oh, well. It looks like I'll have to do the dirty work myself again._

The doors were once again thrown open, and Crevan resisted the urge to shout, "What is this? The Price Is Right?" _'Come On Down'!_ Crevan's mind shouted, but the cold façade remained. This time, an exotic beauty barged in, and grabbed Angel by the collar. She started smacking him around. 

Crevan watched, not interested. Only when he heard the vampire ask "Who are you?" did Crevan look form his bottle of Vodka, now almost half empty. Alcohol never impaired him. At least, it didn't impair him in any quantities less than two bottles of this dishwater Willy called Vodka. 

"I am Kendra, the Vampire Slayer," the woman said with a Jamaican accent. 

_Cool. Should I help? _Crevan's mind asked. Then, he remembered that Buffy liked the vampire. From her friends Crevan knew she once had crush on him, but that it seemed to have passed now. Still, Crevan knew that Buffy wouldn't like it if he let her friend be dusted by a Slayer. 

"Alright, that's enough," Crevan said, getting up from the barstool. Angel and Kendra stared at the Immortal. 

"Stay out of this," Angel said. "You don't know what you're dealing with here." 

"I know well enough," Crevan said. "You are Angel, known as Angelus, friend of Buffy. This is Kendra, second Slayer, called after Buffy's death."

Again, both stared at the man. "And how do you know this?" Kendra hissed. 

"I am Crevan, student of Dominus Necarum." With those words, he turned to Willy (who was just out of hearing range), reached out, grabbed him, and smacked him a couple of times. "Alright, pal. Squeal. What does Spike need with this?" Crevan held up the rag-covered artifact. 

"I don't know what he needs rags for," Willy said. 

Crevan smacked the object into Willy's face. "You know what this is, and it ain't rags. Now talk."

"He wants to get his Dru back, that's all I know!" 

"Great. Does he have the book?"

"I don't know!" Willy said, shaking. "Don't hurt me!" 

At that moment, Kendra attacked Crevan. The Immortal was used to dealing with blind-sides attacks, however. He twisted out of the way, grabbed the Slayer's arm, and started folding it. The chocolate-skinned beauty grunted, and tried to hit him with her other arm. Crevan avoided the attacks, clumsy because of the pain. His hands released her captured arm, and went for the Slayer's head. Kendra tried to avoid him, to no avail. 

The Immortal Ninjitsu specialist countered her attack, broke through her defense, and smacked the Slayer's head against the bar. Two times. Very hard. Kendra gave a sigh, and went down. Crevan turned to Angel. "Will I need to carry you as well, or are you going to come peacefully?" 

"Uhm…I don't think…I'm welcome," Angel said, putting up his hands. 

"You got that right. You have five seconds to scram," Crevan said, after a couple of seconds of deliberation. Llewellyn did say he didn't like souled vampires. It wasn't such a good idea to bring one home. A Slayer on the other hands, could always be useful. Crevan had barely blinked before the vampire made a run for it. Smiling, Crevan turn back to Willy, who stood against the wall, shaking. 

The patrons were running along with Angel. Someone able to take out a Slayer without getting hurt was no one to mess with. "Now talk." 

"He…Spike…he has the book! He stole it! Don't know from where! All I know is that he needs Dru's sire, and that…thing," Willy nodded his head fearfully at the rag-packed object on the bar. Crevan took it, pocketed it, and grabbed Kendra's unconscious form, and walked out of the deserted bar. Willy sunk to the ground, shaking like a leaf. 

"This is not my day," the bartended grunted. 

At the mansion, Llewellyn and Buffy were giving a demonstration on what the Slayer had picked up during her few days of training. In other words, they were playing a game of Capoeira in the ballroom, with everyone looking on. Since her training wasn't that extensive, Buffy was limited to a small number of punches and kicks, but that didn't stop her from having fun. For on of the few times since being called as Slayer, Buffy was enjoying herself during training.

Suddenly, the door was opened, and Crevan dragged a protesting Kendra behind him. The exotic girl's mouth had been taped shut, and she was shackled on hands and feet. Llewellyn and Buffy immediately stopped the workout, and the music played on, eerily cheerful in a room where everyone stared at the new girl.

"Who is she?" Llewellyn asked.

Crevan looked mysteriously around the circle, then righted himself, and announced: "This is Kendra, the second Slayer." The girl stared outraged at Crevan, who smirked back at her. Focus shifted from Crevan back to the girl. 

"Excuse me, but er… why is she shackled?" Giles asked. 

"Yeah, Crevan. What's the deal? I didn't know you were into that kind of thing," Xander said. 

"She tried to kill me," Crevan said, shrugging as if it were no big deal.

Llewellyn sighed, and walked up to the girl. He jerked the tape off her mouth. Much to her credit, the girl gasped, grunted, and moaned, but she didn't scream.

"So. You are the second Slayer. Now, care to tell us why you're here?"

"No!" Kendra shouted. She turned to Giles. "Mr. Giles. The slayer is supposed to work in secret, yet there are strangers present. This is no place to discuss this."

Llewellyn turned to Giles, looking questioning at the Watcher. "Go ahead, Mr. Morgan. I'm sure you can explain things better than I can." 

"Very well. Thank you," Llewellyn said, and turned to Kendra. "My name is Llewellyn Morgan. I was born 1725 years ago, in what is now Wales. I have been involved with the Slayer for over 1500 years."

Kendra stared at Llewellyn as if he were insane. "You don't have to take my word for it, but it's the truth. My student here," he pointed to Crevan, "Is 1009 years old. Both of us have trained excruciating amounts in the martial arts, which is why neither you nor Buffy, stand a chance against us. To make matters even better, I have 1500 years of experience with training and helping Slayers. As such, I am fully able to stand my own against both Slayer and vampire. And what I know, my student knows." 

_Don't have to tell her that Crevan decides what he keeps. _Llewellyn's mind thought. The mental smile never made it to the surface. His cold eyes bore into Kendra's. 

"The Council will hear of this!" Kendra shouted. "I will make sure!" 

"Untie her," Llewellyn told Crevan, who expertly opened the lock. The chains feel away, and Kendra got up, moving carefully. She didn't trust this group. Llewellyn pulled out his cell phone, and held it out toward Kendra. "Call them. See if I care. Listen, I've never forced anybody into anything. Buffy has willingly accepted me as her trainer. Giles accepted me as a partner in his Watcher duties. All of Buffy's friends accepted me as a friend and ally. You don't want to be here? Fine. You know where the front door is. But know this, little girl: if you ever do something to hurt any of them, I will hunt you down and put you down like a dog." 

Llewellyn had stepped up to Kendra, and deployed his full height over her. He looked down, staring his coldest glare directly into her eyes, and Kendra stared back, her mouth slightly open, her eyes shocked. 

"You wouldn't dare. I am a Sla…" Kendra never finished her sentence. Moving with lighting-quick grace, Llewellyn swept the dark-skinned Slayer's leg from under her, causing her to fall flat on her back. The next moment, his weight bore down into her as his knee pressed on her larynx. 

"No one dares me," Llewellyn said. "I haven't hurt you. Yet. Now I dare you to move."

Kendra's mouth was open, but only a weak gasp came out. Her head shook from left to right, and Llewellyn got up. Everyone present stared at Llewellyn, everyone except Sam and Crevan, of course. 

"Why did you do that?" Buffy shouted. 

"I showed her I wasn't kidding, and that I posses the skills to make good on my promise. I don't hurt people; I merely show them the error of their ways. Isn't that right, Kendra?"

Kendra seemed to have lost quite a bit of her attitude. In fact, it had deflated like a ruptured balloon. "Yes, sir." Kendra started to realize that there was, in fact, more to the world than just the Council of Watchers, and their rules and procedures. "How do I become better, sir? And how come you are so old? Are you a demon of some kind?" Kendra asked.

Llewellyn shook his head, amused. "I am a special kind of human, known only as an 'Immortal'. We don't get sick, age, or die, unless our heads are cut off. We become immortal when we die for the first time. Before that time, we age and get sick like normal humans. And if you want, I'll arrange for your visa, you can stay here, and train with me, Buffy, and Sam. If you decide not to take me up on the offer, then there is nothing I can do, and you'll have to go back to Jamaica." 

Kendra stared at Llewellyn, accepting his explanation for now. "How did you know I was from Jamaica, sir?"

"As I said, I was born over 1700 years ago. I have traveled the world, and as such, I can say with about 75% accuracy from what region of the world people come. Just from the way they act, talk, or just from plain sight." 

"You are correct, sir. I am form Jamaica. But the Council…"

"The Council hates my guts," Llewellyn said, shrugging. "It's their problem, not mine. Most Watchers keep my involvement a secret. Some don't…but the Council can't do anything but threaten. Last time they tried to hurt me, I made damn sure that the Slayer didn't want me to go, and I waged war on the Council's assassins. They ran after I took out two of their group." 

"But how can a Slayer work, without her Watcher's support?"

"Let me answer that with a question. What books have you read? Have you been trained before or after you became a Slayer?"

"Before, sir. Since I was four," Kendra answered. "I've read the Codex, as well as Vampyr, and others." 

Llewellyn nodded. "I know those books. I wrote some of them, and knew the people who wrote the rest."

Kendra stared. So did Giles and Willow. Buffy, Xander, and Oz just shook their heads. There was always something new to Llewellyn.

"Hey, I always liked writing," Llewellyn defended himself. 

"Enough chit-chat for the moment," Crevan interjected, cutting a long conversation short. He unwrapped a package, showing its contents to the people present. "Know what this is?" he asked Llewellyn.

"A Du Lac cross," Llewellyn whispered, staring at the item. "There is only one of those left… where did you get it?" 

Everyone focused on Crevan, who shrugged. "Took it from a couple vampires exiting some old tomb." 

"It's useless without the book, the diary of Josephus Du Lac. Did they have that with them?" 

Crevan shook his head. "Nope. Spike has it. He stole it from someone, but my source did know form who. I do know he was going to use it to get Drusilla back, whatever that may mean." 

"Drusilla is Spike's girlfriend," Buffy explained.

Llewellyn and Crevan noticed that the Scooby Gang was suddenly looking very troubled at something, and that they were casting glances at one another. "Something we should know about?" Llewellyn asked. 

"To be honest, Mr. Morgan, a vampire stole that book from my library some weeks ago, before you came to town," Giles said. 

"Great. Just great. Oh, well. Come on, everybody. Let's go see what the ritual entails," Llewellyn said, and led the group to his library. Pulling out a book, he slammed it open. "Here it is," he muttered. 

"You have a copy of Du Lac's diary?" Giles asked. 

"I have the original, Mr. Giles. This is a copy of that original, which is stored in a magical vault, to preserve the document. All sensitive books are in there, perfectly preserved," Llewellyn explained. "They need the blood of her sire to restore Drusilla's strength to her. Lt me guess who Drusilla's sire is?" 

"Angel," Buffy whispered. 

"Can they do it without the cross?" Sam asked, perching closer, trying to take a look herself. 

"The diary has a complete schematic. It's easier to use an original, but a duplicate can be made. All is explained in here."

"How long?" Crevan asked.

"Well, seeing that they have translated enough to need the cross, I say that they know that a duplicate can be built. A couple of weeks, tops?" 

"Plenty of time," Crevan muttered. "What's the plan? Barge in, and take what we need, or use diplomacy?"

Llewellyn grinned. "Sure. 'Please give us back the book. No? Okay. Die instead.' " 

"Could work," Crevan remarked. The rest of the group stared at the two Immortals, with Sam being more interested in the old book than the conversation. 

When his two vampires didn't return, Spike went out to find out what happened to them. He was in a foul mood, to say the least, and angrily crossed to the cemetery. When he found the mausoleum opened, he found the cross missing. Growling, he went to Willy's bar.

When he got there, he saw a man drag a girl onto his bike, chain her up, and tape her mouth shut. Spike wasn't interested in the couple, but he was interested in the object he saw poking out of the man's belt. An object wrapped in rags. 

Smiling to himself, Spike followed the scent. His hunter's instinct has surfaced. He got to the large mansion where the guy lived. The guy who terrified him, the guy who Spike wanted to avoid at all costs. Yet, he wanted to know about his object. If there was any chance of getting it back, Spike wanted to the take it. 

Spike crept up to the house, and listened in, standing right next to one of the windows of the ballroom.

"Know what this is?" Spike heard the man ask. The same man who had stolen the cross from his two vampires. Spike resisted the urge to rip the man's throat out. it wouldn't do much good, since no vampire can enter a private house without invitation. So, he waited. He overheard the conversation about the cross, about what he was planning to do with it, and he also heard when the truth about the theft came out. 

When the group shifted locations, Spike wanted to growl in frustration. He counted his blessings when the light in the next room lit up. Again, Spike listened in. 

"Who the hell is this guy? A magic vault? The _original_ Du Lac diary?" Spike whispered as the conversation went on. Two minutes later, Spike was running for his life. He wanted to get rid of the book, and get rid of it fast. The book was on the doorstep of the mansion within the next fifteen minutes, and Spike let out a breath of relief at getting away with his undead hide intact. 

"Dru? Dru, Love, you need to lay the cards for me. This guy is not alone," Spike woke his sleeping girlfriend. She was recovering, albeit slowly. That's why they had wanted to do the ritual. 

Drusilla began to lie out the cards when she heard Spike's words. The vampire's headache refused to go away that night as Drusilla laid out card after card predicting doom, unstoppable forces, or god-like interventions. Spike knew he couldn't run, not with Dru still weak. That didn't stop him from planning, though. Or from running with Drusilla to the hideout he had been planning for just such a case. 

"Excuse me, monsieur," Xavier entered the study, where the group had gathered to talk over the options. 

"Yes, Xavier?" Llewellyn asked, looking up from the book. Sam was still perched over it, her curiosity on old arcane things having a field day. She was seated in her father's lap, enabling both to look at the book at the same time. 

"Someone left this on the doorstep, monsieur," Xavier said, holding out a book. 

"That…that's my copy," Giles muttered. 

"Your copy of the diary?" Llewellyn asked. 

"Yes," Giles nodded, taking the book from Xavier, who silently left the room. "There is a note. _Here's your freakin' book. Now leave us alone._" 

Everyone stared at Giles, the words he just read totally out of character for the classy Englishman. 

"'Freakin'?" Llewellyn quoted. Together with Buffy, he said, "Spike." 

"He could have copied it," Buffy suggested. "We can't trust him."

"This book is very hard to copy. It would have to be done by hand," Llewellyn said. "Using a photocopy machine only results in black pages."

No one there seemed to question that Llewellyn had tried such an approach.

"M…maybe he had someone copy it. You know, by hand?" Willow asked.

"It's thick," Llewellyn grunted. "It takes time to copy. Somehow, I doubt Spike took the trouble to copy it. I think he just had it translated, to complete the ritual. But, you're right. He might have. I think we'll need to pay him a visit."

Giles pulled a small stack of paper from the back of the book. "These…these are translations," he uttered, looking at the papers. 

"You made quite an impression," Buffy told her teacher. "He definitely wants you not to go after him."

"All the more reason to go," Llewellyn said, smiling. "Never do what your enemy wants, or expects you to do." 

"Sun Tzu," Sam whispered. "Stop stealing other people's stuff," she said, smiling at her father. 

"Funny, Sam. Very funny. Now, who's with me? Let's pay Spike's lair a visit."

"If we can find it," Buffy quietly muttered. 

Llewellyn, Crevan, Kendra, and Buffy went out to find Spike's lair. However, the search resulted in nothing. Spike might not have been able to get out of Sunnydale with Drusilla, but he did manage to find them a new hideout. All the four people found were the signs that the lair had been abandoned quickly. Shrugging, they returned to the mansion, to go over the options. 


End file.
